What's In a Name
by Carolina Nadeau
Summary: Shortly before the birth of their first child, Harold and Marian finally get around to discussing names – a topic that proves to be more complicated than it first seems.


When Marian Paroo Hill had first learned that she was pregnant, mixed in with the boundless joy and excitement she had felt was a little stab of fear concerning the event of actually bringing her child into the world – for the librarian was well aware that, before she would be able to experience the greatest happiness she would ever know, she would have to endure the greatest physical pain she could imagine, an ordeal that she knew would be harrowing even if she were fortunate enough to suffer no extra complications. In order to preserve her optimistic state of mind, she simply chose not to dwell on this inevitability for the time being, as it would not come for many months yet, and there was no reason to allow it to dim her wonder at the new life growing within her.

She had assumed that her anxiety would resurface with great intensity when the time for childbirth grew near. While she was still afraid of all the potential agonies of delivery, however, Marian now believed that she was _more_ than ready to face them, as the constant hardships of carrying a baby who was nearly ready to be born had grown almost intolerable. As fearful as she was at the prospect of labor, as exhausting and challenging as she knew it would be to parent a newborn, she did not think she could bear this frustrating lack of control over her own body for much longer, and she was rather impatient to begin the process of recovering her former physical abilities.

In these final weeks of her pregnancy, now that she had begun her leave of absence from the library, her doctor had advised that she take time to rest as much as possible, and frankly, the librarian did not imagine that she could have done anything else even if it had been absolutely necessary. The simplest tasks, from standing up on her own to bathing, now required an extraordinary amount of effort and sometimes even assistance, and the intense discomfort that resulted from the various changes in her body – most obviously, from the unwieldy proportions of her swollen abdomen – was always at the forefront of her mind. It shocked Marian how many little things she had taken for granted right up until the day when she found she could no longer do them – and she was grateful that she could at least find solace in knowing that her condition was temporary, and that something wonderful awaited their family at the end of it.

Other than talking with Harold, and sometimes with her mother or her dear friend Nellie when they came to visit, all Marian could really do in this state was read, seeing as playing the piano, her other beloved pastime, was entirely out of the question due to the size of her belly. She had briefly been taken with the idea that, as an expectant mother, she might like to knit or crochet a few little items for the baby – and had been swiftly cured of this fantasy after she'd allowed Mrs. Paroo to give her a single lesson in each and found the crafts to be just as maddening and frustrating as she had when she'd first attempted them in her teens. With little more to show for her efforts than a few unsightly masses of tangled thread, the librarian had to admit defeat and leave the crafting of tiny garments to her more-skilled mother (who, thankfully, accepted the task with relish).

So Marian had devoted the vast majority of her idle hours to reading. She tried to make the most of this opportunity by familiarizing herself with as many new books as possible, not only for personal enjoyment but also to broaden her knowledge of the library's contents. Though she was no longer able to leave the house, she had taken a fair assortment of books home with her on her last day of work, and once a week, Zaneeta Shinn, who was now working part-time at the library, came by to exchange the books that she had finished with others. In addition, Marian had the many beloved books in her personal collection to draw from, and Harold had even bought her a few brand new ones to help her pass the time.

What might have seemed like a wonderful luxury to the librarian at one time, however – to sit and read as much as she pleased, day in and day out – was now almost an annoyance in the absence of all other options. She actually felt a little exhausted from it, from time to time. The whole experience only served to prove to her that one could, in fact, have too much of a good thing.

Pregnancy itself was beginning to demonstrate this notion, as well. Marian remembered how, a matter of months ago, Harold had sat at rapt attention, hands on her belly, for a full twenty minutes before a slight flutter of motion affirmed the presence of their unborn baby to him in a far more tangible way than any doctor's diagnosis ever could. Every movement had felt to the both of them like a miracle that was too perfect to describe in words. And now – _now_ she could barely even rest, so conscious was she of the child's every shift and motion, and those once-miraculous kicks were often a torment to her... far, far too much of a good thing.

One cold January morning, after the baby's incessant movements and the resultant pressure in several unpleasant places had kept her up half the night, she had woken up stiff and sore and miserable, her back and her head throbbing with every beat of her heart. Maybe it was a cruel trick of her body to deny her adequate rest when she was in such need of it, or maybe this was simply nature's way of acclimating her to sleepless nights in advance, before the demands of a crying infant made a full night's sleep impossible. Either way, it was insult on top of injury to have to deal with yet another complaint at this time – though she supposed it was just as well when there was no prospect of going anywhere or doing anything.

Although it was much less luxurious than the bed, Marian had insisted on staying on the sofa as much as she could during the day in order to keep herself from feeling too isolated, and today was no exception – as exhausted and uncomfortable as she was, she thought a change of scenery would do her good, especially as she'd already spent so many sleepless hours staring at the wallpaper in their bedroom. As he always did, Harold carefully helped her arrange pillows under her head and her back as she settled in on the couch until she could find a position that brought her some degree of comfort – at this point, she had to sit nearly upright in order to relieve most of her symptoms, although the position sadly did nothing helpful for her back – and today he drew the parlor curtains so the light would not aggravate her headache or make it too difficult to sleep.

While she was having a bit more difficulty than usual this morning, she soon found herself able to relax somewhat, especially after eating breakfast helped to calm the hunger pangs that had exacerbated her discomfort. Certainly there was no chance of her being able to move anytime soon, but the librarian felt content enough just being able to watch Harold go about his business in the kitchen and to know that he was nearby. He had been so kind and understanding all throughout her pregnancy, never once complaining about any of the extra work he had to do to accommodate her ailments or lack of mobility. He would always make sure that everything was well taken care of, whether around the house or concerning her health, and Marian felt remarkably peaceful about that. Nestling her head into her pillow and pulling her quilt up around her shoulders, she imagined his loving, steady arms wrapped around her as tightly and securely as the blanket was, and her tired eyes fluttered shut, a smile on her face in spite of everything.

She didn't even realize that she'd succeeded in falling asleep again until she suddenly awakened to see Harold kneeling by her side and had no memory of him arriving there.

"Oh, you're awake. How are you feeling?" her husband inquired with a gentle smile as her eyes opened.

Blinking her bleary eyes a few times, Marian allowed the question to sink in, not quite comprehending his words in her drowsiness. "Um, better," she said at last. "Not my best, but better than early this morning. The headache is gone, so it's only my back bothering me now. But at least it doesn't hurt to keep my eyes open."

"That's good to hear." He brushed a few stray curls from her forehead and pressed a soft kiss there. "If you need anything, you just ask me."

She licked her dry lips as she considered this. "A glass of water would be nice."

"Of course."

As she watched Harold run to fetch it, she vaguely wondered how much time had passed since breakfast – she had not expected that he would be at home for much longer. "I thought that you had work to do at the emporium?"

Handing her the glass, he shrugged it off as though it were nothing at all. "It's not terribly urgent, and there's no rehearsal today. I'm much more concerned with your comfort."

Marian shook her head and sighed, rather embarrassed. She adored him for caring so much about her well-being, for she knew that not all husbands were this wonderful – but she didn't want to make herself a burden on him or to take advantage of how much he was willing to do. "Don't stay here on my account. It's only a backache – it's not as if it's the sort of pain that means the baby could be coming. And I might just sleep all day long, and then you'll wish you hadn't stayed home..."

"Now, it'll do no good to try to talk me out of taking care of you," Harold insisted. "What if you need help getting up, or what if something changes and you feel worse?" He was talking quickly, in an apparent attempt to address all of her usual arguments before she had a chance to make them. "It's snowing hard enough already to make a walk to the emporium inadvisable, so I very well might have forgone my work today regardless. Marian, I know that it's important to you to be independent, and that you don't want to interfere with my ability to do what I have to do, either – but when you're in your ninth month of pregnancy, I believe the rules are a little different!"

Yes, she had to admit that the rules _were_ different – having never been pregnant before, Marian could not say with any confidence that she knew what would happen at any given moment, and neither did Harold. While her sense of duty might have urged her to resist further, she found herself truly thankful for his offer, and she was loath to refuse his company at a time when she was so thoroughly sick of spending hours in silence. Maybe she was allowing him to spoil her a little, she thought, but she had made no demands upon him, only accepted what he had been so considerate as to offer her.

"You're so good," Marian murmured happily, letting her head sink back against the pillow as a dreamy smile bloomed across her face.

Harold gave her a playful grin, leaning forward to kiss her gently on the cheek. "It's not often that I'm accused of _that__, _Madam Librarian!"

"Then we'd better not let anybody find out, lest you ruin your bad reputation," she giggled. Her mirth was suddenly cut short, however, when a pinching pain shot through her back, and she winced visibly.

He had been in the process of setting her empty water glass back on the end table, but Harold did not fail to notice his wife's discomfort, and his eyes darkened in concern. "Do you want me to rub your back, darling?" he asked kindly as he knelt back down.

The idea sounded appealing, but Marian knew that it would not work in practice. "For you to do that, I'd have to move so that you could reach, and I don't want to do _that_ until I absolutely have to," she explained. "It's not that I'm comfortable like this, exactly, but I don't want to risk making myself feel any worse."

"All right. How are your feet?" He ran a gentle hand down her blanket-covered leg, stopping to lightly stroke her swollen ankle. "I could massage your feet if you'd like."

"Not now, thank you. My feet haven't felt _too_ terrible lately, as I've been staying off them much more." She affectionately trailed her fingers across the back of his neck and shoulders, hoping to show her husband how grateful she was for his presence and his willingness to help, despite her refusal of his offers.

Her music professor seemed to understand her unspoken message, as the love and affection in his eyes deepened even more and he gently caressed her arm in return. "Do you want me to bring you a book, then?"

The librarian had to laugh at that suggestion, considering the topic of her recent contemplations. "Oh, no, I do enough reading when you're not around. Harold, all I really want right now is to talk with you for a while. If you're going to stay home with me, I'd like to spend time with _you_, not a book."

As simple as her request was, Harold looked overjoyed to be able to do _something_ for her. There was something adorably boyish about his response – it brought to mind the way that Winthrop looked when he was allowed to stir a bowl of batter or hand off tools to their mother. "That can certainly be arranged," the professor declared. With a burst of great enthusiasm, he leaped up and grabbed the throw pillow from his armchair, setting it down next to the sofa and sitting on it in an apparent attempt to make himself comfortable for the long haul.

As he bounded around the room, Marian smiled at her husband's nimble energy. It was something that was even more striking to her now that it stood in such stark contrast to her own physicality – and even if she felt the tiniest sting of jealousy, there had always been something invigorating about watching Harold Hill move. The eager way that he looked up and grinned at her as he settled into his position by her side only charmed her more. Evidently, he was approaching the simple task of keeping her company with all of his characteristic gusto.

Harold sat cross-legged and laced his fingers with hers, giving her a tender kiss on the hand. "So, what shall we talk about, dear? Whatever you want is fine with me."

"Mm, let me think. Let's talk about – let's talk about the _good_ part of all this," the librarian answered, pulling his hand up to rest on her stomach. "It's easier to feel better when I keep in mind that we'll have our baby with us soon. It'll make all this unpleasantness more than worthwhile."

He splayed his fingers out across her belly, looking thoughtful – and they both laughed a little when they felt the baby kick right at that very moment, as if in response to the attention. "Well, what about names?" he suggested. "We keep saying we'll decide on them later, but we haven't much time left –"

"And thank goodness for that!" Marian interjected with a wry little smile. "You're right, of course. We can't wait until after the baby is born to talk about this. I want to know, as soon as I hold him or her in my arms, _who _it is that I'm holding. Was there – any name in particular you were thinking about?"

Though he had been the one to broach the subject, he seemed reticent to take the lead. "Well, I'm sure you can think of nicer names than I ever could. Surely you have some beautiful name that you've been saving up since you were a young girl dreaming of her white knight, a name you plucked right from poetry or fairy tales?"

"Oh, nothing that I'd still consider today. When I was much younger, I always imagined naming my future children fanciful things like Guinevere and Raphael," she giggled. "Count yourself lucky that I grew out of _that _phase."

Waggling his eyebrows in mischief, Harold leaned a little closer. "Ah, so those are the offspring of you and the infamous white knight, hmm? Too bad you ended up married to a scoundrel like me. You two'd have had beautiful, virtuous children who never even cried – if only he knew how to make them."

By now, her husband's tendency toward ribald humor hardly shocked Marian, though she could feel her cheeks burning slightly, and she was ready with a quick rejoinder. "Why, the stork would have brought them to us, of course! I much prefer your method, I must say," she teased, affectionately tapping him on the nose with one finger. "But, honestly, I've been quite intrigued to hear what you would say about names. You named _yourself_, after all. Why 'Harold Hill'?"

She had wondered if that question might touch upon a subject that was a little too sensitive to discuss, but Harold did not seem rattled by her inquiry – although he did look a bit sheepish.

"I wish I had a better story to tell you," he laughed. "It just had a ring to it that people would remember. 'Professor Harold Hill!' It was the sound more than anything else, and the alliteration was appealing as well. I started using alliterative names at, I believe, 'D'... oh, I'd been going through the alphabet, see, because I started as Anthony, and every couple of years, before I could get too notorious by any particular alias, I'd change it."

Marian nodded, fascinated. "You thought you wouldn't be Harold Hill for much longer, then. Would you have picked more carefully that time, if you'd known that you were changing your name for good?"

A look of thoughtful reflection passed over his eyes. "It's possible that I might have, but I'm sure happy that I didn't. You say 'Harold' so beautifully, you see. Yes, I suppose that I'd think that about any name that I'd happened to be calling myself at the time when I met you, but I truly can't imagine being anyone other than Harold Hill. It feels more right to be Harold Hill than any other name I've ever had, even the name that I was born with." He was smiling broadly, but in place of his trademark salesman's grin he wore that sweetly gentle and unpretentious smile that he only ever gave to her. Marian would have kissed him senseless for it, if only she could have reached his lips.

In lieu of a proper kiss, then, she held the music professor's hand to her lips, hoping that her action would be enough to convey the great upswell of love that she was feeling in the moment. Harold quickly picked up the cue and leaned up to gently press his lips to hers, his hands trailing through the hair at the back of her neck. It was a blissful enough moment that Marian nearly forgot her backache and her obtrusive size until Harold sat back on his pillow again, still smiling that disarming smile, and she was reminded of the insurmountable distance between them.

Trying not to think about how much she yearned to once again be able to kiss him with all the passion that she felt, Marian quickly tried to direct the conversation to less-sentimental matters. "Did you have a plan for 'I'? The letter, I mean," she asked.

Harold blinked a little, trying to call back the memories. "I'd thought about it, but 'I' had me stumped, and I was considering skipping straight to 'J'. 'Isaac' and 'Ivan' came to mind, yes, 'Irving', perhaps, but those are no names for a salesman. It needed to be something snappy and memorable, a strong sound that's an advertisement as well as a name: _Professor Harold Hill_!" He declared the name with a grand flourish this time, and Marian laughed at his obvious pride in his own cleverness.

"I almost might think you were still interested in the whole – business, with the way that you talk about it," the librarian noted in amusement.

For a split-second, Harold seemed almost to recoil, as though it took him a moment to ascertain that she was not serious. "Oh, absolutely not – you know that. But I suppose that choosing names for myself was by far the most harmless facet of my life, so I might have retained a bit of a taste for it – and thinking of names for my children is a worthy pursuit indeed!" His chagrin quickly fading, the professor rubbed his hands together in excitement, a gesture that Marian found utterly charming. She could discern just from the focused expression on his face that his mind was racing, that he was planning and plotting. "Of course, _these_ names ought to be chosen for more than mere aesthetics, and certainly need to mean something to us. I think our children need intelligent-sounding, strong names, but attractive and elegant as well – because of course they'll be beautiful, with you for a mother –"

Marian blushed and smiled, pleased, but she couldn't fail to notice that her husband was getting a bit sidetracked. "That's all well and good, but do you have any actual suggestions?"

Harold grew still in thought, with the exception of his fingers, which tapped out a gentle sort of drumbeat on her belly. "Hmm, well, are we starting with boys' names or girls' names?"

Though it made her back uncomfortable, the librarian fidgeted a little where she lay. "I'm sorry, I really ought to have mentioned this to you before now. Um, there is actually – a name I have in mind. For a boy. Something that I've thought of for a long time." She felt suddenly self-conscious, as if there was something selfish in expressing this desire.

However, her husband didn't seem to see it that way. His brown eyes aglow with anticipation, he leaned in a little closer. "What is it?"

"Ever since my Papa passed away, I wanted – I always thought my first son would be named William, after him," Marian answered softly, her voice tightening with that poignant mixture of love and pain that always accompanied talk of her father. "I think that would make Papa very happy."

With an earnest nod, Harold wove the fingers of one hand into her hair and trailed them down to rest on her shoulder. "And I'm sure he will be," he said, his voice warm with reverent affection. "I'd be honored to give his name to our son."

He had accepted her wish so easily, so willingly, that Marian had a hard time believing it – she felt compelled to backpedal and provide him with some kind of a way out. She had known he would not refuse her this when he found out her reason, and she did not wish to have him agree to his son's name out of mere sympathy.

"We don't have to name him that, though," she averred quickly. "We need to decide this _together_ – I'm not trying to make you feel guilty so you'd have to agree with me – "

The music professor stared back at his wife in bewilderment. "Marian, I think it's a wonderful idea –"

"Maybe it doesn't even sound right," she sighed, barely even aware that she was conducting this argument without any input on his part whatsoever. "William Hill?"

"Is that not good?" Harold asked, clearly confused. She felt a little badly for him, for she was realizing that her behavior might appear inexplicable, but she couldn't help her pragmatic need to view this decision from all sides.

"Well, what if people call him 'Will'?" she fretted, wrinkling her nose. "When I chose the name, I certainly didn't know what my married name was going to be. I can't force my child to carry the name 'Will Hill'! That's preposterous."

As Marian spoke, she watched Harold's expression grow more and more disbelieving. "But why do you think anybody would call him that? They'll call him 'William' if he calls himself that. Nobody's ever tried to call me 'Harry', have they?"

"No, but what if somebody decides that it would be amusing to make his name into something that rhymes?" She pushed herself up on one arm as best as she could, her lips turning upward into a defiant little smile. "You should know, of all people – you who dubbed me 'Marian, Madam Librarian' almost as soon as we'd met!"

Harold sat up straight and squared his shoulders. "It won't happen. I won't allow it, and I'll make sure that _he_ won't stand for it. I'll tell him, 'Son, you're named after a great man, William Paroo – '" He paused and snapped his fingers as if he'd had a revelation. "And William Shakespeare, too! Our boy can be named for him as well, why not? – 'and if anybody tries to call you otherwise, you can tell them about all the great things that all the Williams of the world have done!' …Of course, I still don't believe that anybody would actually tease him about that name, but any kid who teases _my _kids will have to answer to me."

"You're right, there's a very good chance that nobody will ever call him anything so silly, but I still think it's important to consider everything. Better to be a little too cautious than to unwittingly give a child a name that will embarrass him."

"Oh, I can think of far more embarrassing names than a handsome, classic name like William," he responded, a hint of laughter dancing beneath his words.

Marian raised her eyebrows. "Embarrassing names? Are you thinking of anybody in particular?"

"You read about them all the time!" Leaning an arm on the sofa cushion, Harold adopted a raffish posture that almost made her heart skip a beat – if it weren't for the entirely ludicrous topic of his words. "How about, for example – Bartholomew? Ichabod? Nimrod? Ebenezer?"

Though laughing only aggravated her various discomforts, Marian simply couldn't help it as she listened to him earnestly spout such an absurd list. "You're right, those are _much_ worse names to live with," she giggled, tickled to no end at the thought of a sweet baby named Ebenezer. "I truly wonder how any parents would ever come to the conclusion that such a name is just the thing for their precious child!"

"I do have to question what goes through their heads." Although they were, of course, quite alone – the baby notwithstanding – Harold leaned in even closer to her with a devilish smile and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "You may think 'Marcellus' is a mouthful of a name already, but I've given him my solemn promise never to tell anyone his original middle name. Oh, he's dropped it long ago – you might remember from his wedding that he calls himself Marcellus James Washburn – but only I know the truth. Well, presumably Ethel knows, too. Now, I can't tell you what it is, but believe me, it just might be even worse than any of the ones I just listed."

Marian let out a gasping little laugh, and then, immediately following, a pang of guilt for it. "I shouldn't wonder what it might be – it isn't polite, especially as he wants it to be kept secret – but now you've given me no choice!" she groaned, pressing her fingers to her forehead. "Why on earth did you think it was a good idea to tell me that?"

He shrugged his shoulders with a shameless grin. "Maybe I didn't think it through, but it was the best story that I have to tell regarding names."

"That was _not_ a story," she protested, showing her disapproval with an exaggerated pout. "That was giving away half a secret that you were _supposed_ to be keeping – not a kind thing to do to Marcellus _or_ to me!"

"But you see, now I bet you're not thinking that there's any reason to worry about naming our son something as fine as 'William Hill', hm?"

"That's the last thing on my mind." Marian feigned weary defeat, raising her head a little just so she could drop it dramatically to the pillow. "So, tell me, my love, what sort of middle name would you suggest for our William? It's only fair to ask you first, seeing as the first name was entirely my idea."

She'd expected him to hem and haw over it, which is why it surprised her so much when he answered her immediately. "Do you think he could be William Anthony? I don't think I could have a child with the same name that I used to answer to when I was a kid – I just couldn't get used to calling him that – but it _was _the name that my mother wanted me to have. I feel like it would only be right to put it to some use, seeing as I didn't keep it for myself."

"I think that's wonderful," she agreed. "Um, would you want a daughter to be Lucille, then, for your mother?"

Harold pressed his lips together in a tight line. "Well, it's like I just said – I don't think I could get used to calling her that every single day. I love my mother dearly, but I – I want a fresh start, not to give my daughter the name of a woman who lived so unhappily. Perhaps 'Lucille' would make a nice middle name, yes, but I'd like to think of something new for the name we'll call her by. A name that has no association with my past."

"I understand," said Marian, though she realized that this conversation was starting to make her ill at ease, and she felt a sudden, vague sense of fear for what could come next. "So… It'll be _something_ Lucille Hill, hmm?"

He smiled, unaware of the turmoil that was currently taking place within her. "If you'd like. Did you have any ideas to fill that _something_ with, sweetheart?"

The answer sprung to her mind immediately:_ No. None. _And the reason for that answer made the librarian feel cold with dread, made the optimistic smile freeze and fade from her face, brought a sinking feeling into her stomach that felt even heavier than the baby. It was a thought that she'd stubbornly pushed aside for well over a year now so that she would not have to confront it head-on. Clearly, she'd had a good deal of success in the matter, as when their conversation had begun, she had not even considered that it must come to this. Now, she almost succeeded in pushing that thought away once again, but she realized that the time had come where she could not afford to keep her feelings secret from her husband. This conversation could never continue in good faith if she did. So she forced the words out, trying not to think too much about what she was saying lest she lose her nerve.

"Harold, I – I w_orry _about girls' names," Marian admitted softly, averting her eyes. "I have ever since I first thought of having children with you, and that was, well, right when we began courting. The truth is, I'm afraid we can't avoid giving our little girl a name that you would identify with – a –" She had to stop and swallow the lump in her throat, but the next words still came out in a strangely tight voice. "A woman. Another woman."

Tears brimming in her eyes, Marian tried to gain control over her unruly emotions, which were only made more dramatic by her condition – she had no reason to feel insecure, she reminded herself, there was no longer any doubt in her mind that Harold had only ever loved her and nobody else – but speaking aloud of those women with whom her beloved had once been physically intimate, contemplating them as human beings with names, struck a harsh blow to her morale. She ached to turn to her husband for support, but, fearing that he would see her gaze as accusatory, the librarian simply closed her eyes tightly and waited for a response.

The few moments of silence that followed her confession were near-torturous, but they didn't last long. "_Oh_," Harold exclaimed, the air falling out of his lungs like he'd been punched. "Oh, of course you would think of that."

His voice was heavy with shame, and Marian's eyes flew open at once, frantic to see that she had not wounded him too deeply. She clutched his hand more tightly still when she saw the anguish on his face – she felt like kicking herself, for why had she selfishly gone and ruined their lovely conversation and caused him such pain? But the truth of the matter quickly brought her to her senses. It wasn't going to be pleasant, but she _had _to know.

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I know that you'd never _want_ to have those memories," Marian assured him in what she hoped was a level tone, though she could feel her heart slamming wildly in her chest. "I just mean that with things as they are – thinking logically – mathematically, even – "

The fatal word that echoed in her head was the one that she desperately needed not to say. _Hundred_. And that was just in reference to Illinois... Charlie Cowell had been trying to hurt her with that word, yes, but she knew enough of Harold's past to know that it was no blatant falsehood. Marian did know that he had not actually _been with_ all of the women that he'd cozied up to, not in the most complete sense, but she had no trouble believing that he had at least kissed hundreds of women over his many years as a con man, and she was aware that he must have gone to bed with a good fraction of those women. It hadn't been easy, but she had long ago conquered most of the qualms or feelings of inadequacy that stemmed from this knowledge, except for that one little problem that remained before their memory could be banished for good – they all had names.

The music professor drew in a deep breath and placed his hands on her shoulders – to the best of his ability, given their current positions – and gazed beseechingly into her eyes, looking every bit as regretful and barefaced as he had when he had first knelt before her brother and called himself a liar and a crook. "Well, I don't know if you'll think better or worse of me for what I'm about to tell you, but – I don't remember those names, sweetheart. Truly, I don't. I made a particular point not to remember names or faces, to never give any part of myself to a woman or keep anything of hers for myself, and before I met you, I never even wanted to. Even memories were too close for comfort. So... I can't imagine that there would be any name that we couldn't use for that particular reason."

Marian had been near to shaking the entire time that he spoke, and then there it was, the answer that had been too wonderful to hope for – _he didn't remember_. If she'd had the physical capability she would have thrown her arms about him and buried her face in his chest, feeling like a cold, heavy burden had been lifted from her heart. Instead, she could only show the extent of her utter relief by clasping his hand to her cheek.

The words tumbled quickly and inelegantly out of her mouth, and she barely had time to even take a breath. "I realize that it's selfish, that it's awful of me, but I'm so happy that you don't remember," she confessed. "Although those poor women surely wouldn't see it that way, and for that reason I _know_ that I must be wrong to feel like this – but, oh, I'm so relieved that you don't walk around with all those names and faces in your mind, even though I know you'd never think of such things on purpose." She nearly choked on her next words, and they came out in a barely-audible whisper. "And I was so very afraid that there had been another Marian..."

"_Never_," Harold answered instantly, and he said it with such fierce certainty that the librarian had to raise a questioning eyebrow.

"But how can you know for sure, if you don't remember?" she whispered tremulously.

Still no flicker of doubt showed in his expression, his eyes burning with sincerity. "All right, so maybe I can't _know_ in the strictest sense, but all I know is that when I say your name, darling, it's all _you_. It always has been." He kissed her eyelids and her cheeks, wiped her tears away, whispered her name again and again as if it were a prayer. "A name has never meant so much to me – and I know that it's foolish and sentimental of me, but I just don't believe that there could have ever been another Marian in my life, even in name, not when _my_ Marian was waiting for me to show up in Iowa someday and fall head-over heels for her."

"Then, then, I'll believe it if you believe it." Marian tried in vain not to cry again, this time out of the sheer emotion that he had stirred up in her. She wondered at how her husband could listen to her fret and worry and nearly lose faith, over and over again, and still believe that she was worthy of such adoration. Even knowing his past, she felt that this man really might be too good for her. "I'm so sorry for ever doubting you, Harold – I _love_ you – " Her words were quickly lost in an undignified little sob, and she bit her lip hard in an attempt to suppress any further such embarrassments.

Her husband wrapped his arms around her as best as he could, stroking her hair to calm her, and she leaned gratefully into his embrace. "You don't have to apologize. I wouldn't even say that you were doubting me, my dear. It was a perfectly reasonable concern for you to have. And for what it's worth, I don't think you're being selfish to be happy that I don't remember – I live with enough guilt for what I've done without _those_ specific memories weighing on me, and if I did remember, it would mean nothing but more pain for the both of us. Just because you fell in love with a scoundrel with a past, that doesn't mean that you're obligated to bear all of his burdens." A wry, humorless smile crossed his face. "And somehow, I suspect that the women I've wronged don't wish fondly for me to remember them, either."

Marian nodded, feeling somewhat less guilty as she considered that. "That might be true – perhaps they are just as content to forget the indiscretions of their pasts as you are. But even though it hurts me to think of them as _real _women like this, as more than just another faceless aspect of your unsavory past... I can't be angry with them. I have no right to that. I only pray that they've moved on, that their lives are happy now, that each of them went on to find something in life that truly fulfills her." She let out a little sigh, fully aware that her sympathy for these women could only go so far, and that she was hardly a paragon of virtue for wanting a decent life for them mainly so she could feel better about herself. "I suppose that wishing goodwill upon them makes me feel less heartless for never wanting to think or speak of them again," she confessed.

But Harold seemed to identify with her conflicted emotions. "You know, I hope the same thing – I always have, even if it is just to make myself feel better. I may have been a hedonistic womanizer, but I was never in the business of ruining lives. At least, not in _that _way. I swore to myself that as many meaningless affairs as I may have had, I would _always _be better than my father. Though it goes without saying that I should have aimed a great deal higher than that if I wanted to be a decent man." He shook his head with a rueful chuckle. "And here I thought that falling in love with you had made me duly penitent for the way I'd treated women in the past, but... the idea of having a daughter? It makes me want to go out and wallop every despicable cad who ever broke a girl's heart, starting with myself."

In spite of herself, a small smile curved Marian's lips – she found it quite charming how powerful his paternal instincts could be, even before he had ever laid eyes on their child. "There's no need to go that far – and I think you've been quite hard enough on yourself already – but it is wonderful to see what a devoted father you already are!" She laughed lightly, kissing his fingers, before dropping her voice to a more serious tone. "We'll keep her safe, darling. We'll make sure that she knows how to look out for herself."

Though Harold looked back at her in contentment, as if this were any other comfortable silence between them, the librarian did not feel truly at ease. As she tried to think of what she could possibly say next, Marian could not help but think that their blissful contemplation of their happy family was no longer salvageable after she had brought up such a dreadful topic as his past lovers, and she averted her eyes from his, suddenly ashamed. If she had not been so limited in her mobility, she would have excused herself and already been halfway up the stairs, prepared to give Harold all the space that he undoubtedly wanted from her. The last thing that she wanted right now was to be left all alone to wallow in her guilt, but she also couldn't expect special treatment from him simply because she happened to be heavily pregnant, not if she had been so careless as to hurt him.

"Well, I suppose I've gone and ruined everything now," she sighed, releasing his hand from her own and preparing for the inevitable. "We don't have to go back to discussing baby names like nothing ever happened. Perhaps you could just bring me my book and I'll stop bothering you."

In objection, her husband enfolded her hand in his own once again, his eyes widening with alarm. "Marian, you're not bothering me at all. I know that – these things – can be hard to deal with sometimes, but we have to get through them, and we did. It's not as though your question came from mistrust or any doubt of my sincerity _now_. If you'd doubted that I am anything less than fully and completely yours, I might have been understandably upset, yes. But a simple question of how much I remember from the past is hardly an accusation, and you had every right to ask me, especially because it happens to be very relevant to our present situation. If _you_ don't want to talk anymore, we can stop, but I assure you, I'm not upset with you in the least."

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Well – if you're truly all right –" She wished badly that _she _could pull him close, stroke his hair, give him all the comfort that he had just been so kind as to give to her, but the best she could do in her current position was to place her hands on his shoulders and hope that he could infer her meaning well enough to lean forward into her arms. To her relief, he did as she'd hoped, burying his face against her neck and kissing her gently there, and Marian reveled in his closeness, breathing in the clean, aromatic scents of his aftershave and soap. "Just… know that I'm not asking you to do this," she whispered.

Harold's voice was deep and soothing in her ear as he put her worries to rest. "I'm not about to drop out on the love of my life and the mother of my child just because she needs a little reassurance over my reprobate past. Whatever kind of comfort you need, I will always give it to you."

She clung to her dear husband, gladly accepting that comfort, yet still feeling that she was being terribly selfish. "But I shouldn't need reassurance now, not after you've committed your entire life to me and given me so much... I shouldn't be asking for your comfort over things that you can't help, that you've tried so hard to put behind you. _You _deserve _my_ reassurance."

"It's not a competition, sweetheart," he laughed. "And there's not a limited supply of 'reassurance' to go around. What heartens me most of all is to know that you're not haunted by the unpleasantness of my past, either, so the happier you are, the happier I am."

"And vice versa, as well," Marian reminded him staunchly. "Oh, I always do this, don't I – dig for a problem where none exists. But if there _were_ one, I just didn't want you to hide it for my benefit. I want to make sure that we don't ever hide any hurt feelings from each other – those only grow more unpleasant with time."

"Don't worry – I'm not hiding anything." For effect, he turned out his pockets to show her that he did, indeed, have nothing concealed on his person save for his pocket watch and a single handkerchief.

The librarian couldn't keep from laughing at this display, and she noticed that Harold seemed even more pleased that he had managed to restore her good spirits. "Neither am I," she answered. "So, would it be perfectly all right to continue our conversation?"

The music professor drew his hand across her abdomen, following the curve of her rounded stomach. "Well, we can hardly stop here. Our potential son already has his name picked, so it wouldn't be fair to leave our potential daughter waiting, especially as the baby might arrive any day now."

"You make a good point, as always." She wove her fingers into his thick hair, smiling once again. While Marian still didn't feel particularly confident that she had said nothing wrong, right now, she couldn't stand the idea of any sort of a rift between them; at this juncture when she couldn't even trust her own body or emotions, she needed him as her constant ally. "Tell me what you think about girls' names, then."

Once again, Harold's expression displayed that intense excitement that fired him whenever he engaged in any approximation of a clever scheme. "Hmm. I feel like there're so many more to choose from – all the good boys' names that spring to mind seem belong to somebody I know already, whether it's a boy in the band or one of the men in town. For a girl, it's easier to choose something that's less… everyday. There's quite a lot of thinking to do to find a name that'll fit her perfectly." He paused in his enthusiasm, seeming to consciously restrain himself from dominating the discussion too entirely. "Then again, I suppose I should defer to you first for suggestions, as the mother – "

"I don't _have_ any ideas, darling," she explained, a bit shyly. "I was too afraid to come up with any, because of – what I told you about. I can try and think of some now, but whenever I thought about it before, well, it made me too anxious."

Harold was clearly distressed by this, his brow furrowing in concern once more, but the librarian silenced him with a quick, decisive shake of her head. "There's no need to retread that conversation again, now. We've established very well that we've nothing to worry about in that regard, so we shouldn't make ourselves upset over it – I'm simply stating a fact, and the fact is that I simply have no girls' names to suggest."

'Well, we're in luck, because I do, actually." His handsome face lit up with the familiar flash of a successful plan. "I've been going into the study and checking in your books for names that I liked. I couldn't think of a more convenient way to see a lot of names at once, and I knew that literary names would be to your taste. Plays are especially helpful – they list all the names in the front – and of course, there are author names to consider, as well.. I looked for the books with the deepest creases, although I know that any book that you like enough to own must mean something special to you."

"That _is_ a good idea," Marian affirmed, smiling. "And what names did you discover for our little girl?"

The music professor tapped his fingers together in thought. "Hmm, I should have wrote them down, but there were certain names that stood out to me. I'll just have to see what I can recall right now. I thought Beatrice could be lovely – from _Much Ado About Nothing_, remember?"

"I do like that," she answered slowly, rolling the name around in her mind to see how it sounded, how it felt. A name seemed like such a monumental decision to make without a great deal of thought, but they didn't have a great deal of time. She had imagined her firstborn son as William for a long time, so she needed to select a girls' name that wouldn't seem like a trite or capricious decision in comparison. "Could you tell me what else you were thinking? I think that maybe when I hear the name, it will just_ feel_ right – or maybe I'm proving myself to be too foolish and sentimental, too!"

Harold nodded. "Well, you have a lot of books, so I found quite a few names. I know you have a particular affinity for the works of Jane Austen, so what do you think of Jane?"

"'Jane Hill'..." She shook her head promptly. "No, that's not it."

"Hmm, you're right. I hadn't put it together with the surname in my mind – sounds much too short." Harold rested his chin on his hand, deep in thought once more. "Let's see, what next? I could always run upstairs and double-check the books again..."

"Why don't you just say some more names out loud for me?" Marian requested, catching his hand as he moved to stand up. "Whatever comes to your mind, just say it, and I'll listen."

At her urging, he settled back down onto his pillow, but the professor still looked unsure. "But I might not remember what book it was from – "

"Oh, that doesn't matter. Chances are, I can make the associations myself, you realize. After all, the books are mine!"

Convinced by that, Harold did his best to remember as many names from his prior research as he could. Marian closed her eyes and listened to the names that he recited to her, getting accustomed to the way they sounded in Harold's voice. This would be a name that they would call out the back door at dinnertime, inscribe on little tags for Christmas presents, teach her to write with sweet clumsy fingers, whisper when they kissed her goodnight… it had to be perfect.

Emma, Josephine, Anna, Cordelia, Katherine… all lovely names, but she didn't feel _sure_ about any of them. She pressed her hand to her belly, trying to reconcile each name with the girl that she might hold inside of her. Was she a Miranda, a Lydia, a Rebecca? All of the choices were overwhelming, each of them possible but none of them standing out as perfect.

Though she was careful to keep listening to Harold, Marian found herself addressing her child in her mind. _Tell me, little girl – if you are a girl – what should we call you?_

"Charlotte?"

Like all the names, he had spoken it as a question, but to Marian, this one felt like an answer, _the _answer that they'd been seeking. Something soft in the _L_, something sharp in the _T_, made her envision a bright, kindhearted girl who was wise enough to look out for herself, just as they'd discussed earlier. None of the other names had sparked such a reaction in her, and her eyes quickly opened, a smile spreading across her face. "As in Brontë, I presume?"

"That's it," he confirmed, gesturing to the well-worn book that lay on the table beside the sofa. At the moment, having finished all of the new books that were currently in the house, Marian had happened to return to one of her old favorites from her personal collection, Charlotte Brontë's _Jane Eyre_, for what she estimated must have been the fifth time in her life, although the previous time had been several years ago.

"I know now that 'Jane' isn't going to work, so I almost overlooked this book, but 'Charlotte'… I like that an awful lot," said Harold.

"So do I. When you said it, it sounded right to me. It sounded _real_."

She'd always found the story of _Jane Eyre_ compelling, not only for its romance and drama, but because the character of Jane was so quietly strong and brave, unwilling to sacrifice her integrity or her freedom, no matter what difficulties she might have to face for that reason. And Charlotte, the woman who had written Jane into existence, the eldest of three remarkably talented sisters, and who had poured her own bold beliefs into the creation of her most famous character... Marian was quite pleased by the implications of bestowing this name upon her daughter. Though her initial reaction to the name had been merely because she'd liked the way it sounded, she was rapidly finding more and more reasons that she loved it.

Of course, she was aware that Harold probably did not know any of this (maybe she ought to suggest that he read _Jane_ _Eyre_, if they were really going to name their daughter for Miss Brontë!), but at the very least he must have at least felt some sort of deeper draw to the the name, as he took the book from the table and traced the gilt letters of the author's name with a sort of quiet awe. "I think I know just what you mean."

"Are you certain you aren't just saying that because I said it first?" Marian asked, skeptical as always that he wasn't simply appeasing her out of a sort of pity over her physical condition or even just an over-earnest desire to please her.

"Maybe it has a _little_ something to do with the way you lit up when I said it – I don't think I could ever be impartial when you smile like that – but I really do feel that way," he told her. "It sounds like just the kind of name for the beautiful, intelligent girl that I've always imagined us having."

"I don't quite know how to describe it. The other names that you suggested sounded like somebody else's children, but Charlotte sounds like ours, somehow," said Marian, her building excitement evident in her voice. But, as she became aware of how attached she'd become to the name in a matter of minutes, she felt her cautious instincts surface once again and push her to talk herself out of it. "I mean, we shouldn't be hasty – maybe we're settling too quickly," she hurried to add.

Harold's face showed a nearly imperceptible twinkle of mischief, and she rather suspected that he must be up to something. Knowing Harold, that was usually the case. "Well, do you want to help me think of some more?" he asked.

She gave a swift, dismissive shake of her head. "No, we don't need to do that." The sudden strength of her conviction startled even her – but her husband smiled in shameless triumph. It had been another harmless but clever little trick of Harold's, she realized – to get her to express her true feelings with a well-placed, roundabout question. In mock annoyance, she rolled her eyes, though she couldn't keep the affectionate smile from her face. "All right, I see, Professor. You win."

"That was easier than I had thought it might be. You really _are_ certain, aren't you?"

"I suppose that I really am," Marian conceded. "And you?"

"Certain. Our daughter, Charlotte. Our son, William," Harold declared, trying the names on for size, and the way that he beamed with glowing pride as he said them confirmed for Marian beyond all doubt that they had made the right choices.

"And now we'll just have to wait to find out which one you are," she whispered, gazing down at her belly in reverence. Without even thinking about it, husband and wife entwined their hands together again, resting them above where their baby was growing.

"Do you have a feeling for whether it's a boy or a girl?" the professor asked, his eyes flicking back and forth between her eyes and her stomach. "Any special maternal intuition?"

"Didn't you ask me that a few months ago?"

"Perhaps, but you two have gotten a fair amount more time to get acquainted since then. It seems like I'll have a lot of catching up to do when he or she shows up!"

His assertion was in jest, but the librarian wondered if it might come from a place of deeper truth – after all, he would never know what it was like to carry a child, and he could not do anything to change that fact. It troubled her to think that he might be feeling left out because he could not share in that special kind of parent-child bond. Perhaps it would somewhat placate him to learn that, despite their shared bodily space, the baby remained as much a mystery to her as it was to him.

"I regret to inform you that our conversations have remained strictly one-sided, unless the kicks and the squirming around contain some meaning that I've yet to decipher," she informed him with a smile.

"But no dreams, no sudden flashes of instinct?"

Sighing, Marian shrugged and shook her head. "Mama insists that I'm having a girl, but I don't know – my intuition always tells me something different. I'd see you helping out one of the little boys in the band, and all of a sudden I'd be sure that the child I'm carrying must be a boy, but then later, I'd walk by a group of little girls skipping rope and feel the strongest sense that it's a girl!" She felt an irrepressible little thrill of giddy excitement run through her, as it always did when she pictured what it would be like when the baby was finally _here_. "Both ideas make me equally happy, of course, so it hardly matters at all. Whatever it turns out to be, I know it will feel like it couldn't have been any other way."

"Well, there's no need to make too much fuss over it – there's a fair chance that we'll have at least one of each eventually."

An incredulous little laugh escaped her lips. Certainly, Marian loved the idea of envisioning their ideal family together, two or three children all gathered happily around them, but in light of her current circumstances, Harold's comment was downright alarming.

"And I hope that we will, too, but let's not get too far ahead of ourselves, darling! This one is proving to be _quite_ enough work for me for the time being."

"No, no, we won't think about that right now," Harold was quick to agree, throwing his hands up in front of him as if to dispel his poorly-chosen words from the air. "This baby is going to be the focus of all our energy for a long time." His expression grew a little more subdued, and he lowered his head with unusual humility. "But, at least you won't have to bear it all alone for much longer – once the baby's born, after all, I can do much more to help than I ever could now. Marian, I feel helpless sometimes, knowing that you've gone through all of these difficult changes and I'm just the same. I feel… _useless_ to you."

For the second time this morning, her self-assured beloved looked utterly vulnerable, and Marian couldn't deny that it unsettled her. But she wasn't going to sit and blame herself, not when she could be helping instead. Placing her hands on his face, she gazed intently into those eyes that she loved, hoping that she had the capability to make him feel better. "Harold, you could never be useless. You do realize, it's rather fortunate that you still retain all of your physical capabilities – or who else would help take care of me and the baby while I can scarcely move?"

He shrugged. "Your mother seems to handle things well enough when she's here."

"Yes, and I'm so very happy to have her as well, but, Harold… you're my husband, and our baby's father. There's no replacement for you. I could never, ever do this without you, and everything that you do."

The music professor looked immensely grateful for her encouragement, and Marian felt rather proud that her simple words had successfully convinced him of his own indispensability – Harold was so very good with words that Marian sometimes doubted in her own ability to say the right thing – but he was still desperate to convince _her_ of his wholehearted commitment to proving himself as a husband and father. "I'll do anything and everything that I can," he vowed. "I want us to share this as equally as possible."

She smirked and cocked an eyebrow. "I'll be holding you to that promise, you realize, when there are diapers to be changed and such in the middle of the night..."

"Well, I'll do my best to keep it," Harold promised her in earnest. "I'm not expecting things to be easy, but I knew what I was getting into, wanting to have children with you. What I do expect is that it will be _worth _it, no matter how hard it gets."

At that, the librarian felt a pleasant little glow start within her. Maybe they didn't have any experience as parents, but at least they were on the same page, and they were as ready and willing to take on this challenge as anybody ever could be.

"I remind myself of that same thing every day," she said. "All the aches and pains are just temporary, such a small price to pay in the long term."

Her husband clasped her hand tightly in loving solidarity. "Speaking of aches and pains, how do you feel right now?" He sat back a little, his eyes scrutinizing her posture with care and concern.

"Relaxed enough," she sighed in contentment, nestling her cheek into the soft pillow. "That is, the baby isn't pressing too intently on any particular organ at the moment, so everything else is relatively bearable."

"I think the little one's sleeping." Harold chuckled affectionately, his hand tracing absentminded circles around her abdomen. "I haven't felt any movement for a good while now."

She'd been too caught up in their conversation to actually notice when this had happened, but it certainly explained why she'd become so much more comfortable. "I ought to do the smart thing and get some sleep now," Marian said with a yawn. "Of course, I know that the more that I nap during the day, the more trouble that I might have falling asleep tonight – but I can't pass up a chance to sleep while neither my back nor the baby is bothering me terribly!"

"Oh, you absolutely should, then," he agreed fervently. "You need to get your sleep whenever you possibly can. Too much napping can't be a problem when you barely even managed to sleep properly last night."

"And _you_ ought to get some work done," she replied in the most no-nonsense tone that she could muster. She made an attempt to wave a finger imperiously at him, though the effect was rather weakened by her non-intimidating posture. "You're certainly not going to have any time to finish up all of your new-year business after the baby is here!"

"You're right," her husband laughed. "Good thing it's not parade season for a few months yet, or I don't know what I'd do. With Christmas over as well, I'd say the timing is about as convenient as it ever could be."

"See, already, our child is considerate," the librarian teased. "Clearly, you haven't been too bad of an influence after all."

"Either that, or you're a good enough influence to overrule me. I wouldn't doubt that." Kneeling down again, Harold pressed his lips to his wife's forehead after tucking her blanket around her. "I'll be working right there in the music room if you need me. You get your rest now – " his hand dropped to her belly once more " – both of you."

He followed the kiss to her forehead with a tender kiss to her stomach, and Marian felt an almost overwhelming rush of love. They really were almost a family now – the librarian, the music professor, and the dear little stranger in their midst – and no matter how frustrating pregnancy could be, no matter how life-changing parenthood would be, she felt nothing but joy at the prospect of raising children with the man that she loved, and to know that he felt the same way.

And, most happily of all, their little Charlotte-or-William Hill finally gave her a chance to catch up on the sleep she'd missed. In the moment, she was just about as grateful for that small mercy as she was for all the other lovely blessings in her life.


End file.
